Sins Of The Father
by SavannahOfAsgard
Summary: Some men want to walk and run through the world. Some men want to rule it. Some men just want to watch it burn.
1. One - Queen Of Mine

**Written for my friend Craig McLure, who I got into this godforsaken show that has taken over both of our lives.**

 **=== 350 YEARS AGO ===**

Acedia sighed again. Her chimeras ran and fought and slept and ate and complained, but she remained beside her Father as an unmoving, statuesque figure. His chin was resting on his left fist, eyes closed, near-golden hair falling behind his bare shoulders. He hadn't moved in days. It was as though he was trying to overcome himself, trying to think, trying to prove something. He exhaled loudly, slowly, composing himself for the future.

"Acedia, my child," he said, "your time has come."

"Father, I-"

He turned in his seat to face her. "Do you not want to make me proud? Do you not wish to please me? Or is it that-"

She stood as abruptly as a kimono could let her and kneeled beside her Father. "No! I wish for that to happen, but I, I just don't feel as though this is right. Us. This entire plot to murder millions." Acedia put a few strands of golden hair behind an ear. "It isn't logical. Why use an entire-"

"Because, child," he placed a pale hand on her cheek, "no one will know of us if no one is alive. That is logical. The deaths of these people will allow us to live. It is simply equivalent exchange; millions of lives taken from them for millions of lives given to us."

"But what of him?"

"He will be here when the time comes. He will be safe." Her Father kissed her forehead. "But now you must go."

She sighed again as she stood. "Of course." Acedia turned and walked through the bright room, stepping over pipes on her way. "Will you wait for me," she asked, facing the seemingly endless corridor, "for when I return?"

He remained silent as she left. Only when she was out of view did he speak. "Of course, my love."

 **=== PRESENT DAY ===**

Perhaps it was fate. Seeing this happen again and again. Places that were ripe for revolution, prepared for independence, destroyed by the King's military within a matter of months. Riviera. Table City. Fotset. Each one the centre of a war zone. Each one a border skirmish. Each one taken over by the Amestrian State Military.

It wasn't just that, however. This one was much more.

This one was Ishval.

She ran between buildings, under bridges, trying to find the best vantage point. Her eyes gleamed in the low sun, the gold on her uniform shining as she moved. Families died around her, the blood of children pouring through the cracks between the cobbles. White hair turned red. Dust became iron. Screams became silence.

"Lieutenant!" Someone ran behind her, their voice pained. "Lieutenant Ross!" She slowed, allowing him to catch up.

Turning, she stopped. "Yes, what is it? What happened, private?"

"Armstrong, sir, she's... she's hit. Shot multiple times, in various places."

And the Lieutenant ran back to where she had come. She arrived within minutes, frantically searching for the major general she had grown to care for.

"Olivier!" She yelled, peering over the crowds of soldiers. "Where is Olivier Armstrong?"

Ross looked inside every tent, every alley on the Amestrian side. And, when all hope was lost, she rifled through the lines of body-bags spread on the dirt.

Nothing. Olivier was nowhere.

The lieutenant braced herself on the nearest wall and slumped to the dirt. She held her head up high, attempting to stay calm and upright for her subordinates, but she could feel tears stinging her eyes.

 _Perhaps she was already taken out. No, she wouldn't have died already. Perhaps she was off duty and was shot. No, she's always on duty. But perhaps..._

 _She's still on the field_.

Ross stood up and shook herself out of her mournful stupor. She ran out, past the cannons, the snipers, the infantry, ignoring the cries of those beneath her, telling her to stop. She stepped right into enemy fire, unscathed and unfaltering.

She yelled for Olivier again and again and again. Nothing happened. Ishvalans died. Amestrians died. Ross remained untouched. She saw the blood on the rocks. She heard groans. She-

She saw long blonde hair. And there was only one woman she could possibly be.

"Olivier!" Ross cried, running to her dying friend, who lay on the bloody dirt. She saw the deep red stains on her uniform, on her chest and legs. She heard her raspy breaths. "I knew something would happen to you of all people, I just knew it!"

Olivier laughed before groaning in pain. "Goddamn it," she smiled, "I thought that I'd be gone before you found me."

"Why is it that only when you're _dying_ that you laugh?"

"I-" she breathed, "I think I'm going to die here, Desperanza." Her blue eyes bore into the lieutenant's soul. "Leave me be."

Ross moved to put her arm under Olivier's legs, but was feebly slapped away. "You will not," she tried again, reaching forward, "you _will_ make it, Olivier, you will-"

"Lieutenant Ross!" The major general yelled, startling her. "You will do as I say and I say that you are to-"

"You know I can't, Liv!"

"Desperanza..." Olivier stopped struggling, and Ross moved back.

 _This is the end_.

"Dess, if this is," she sighed. "Just...carry me carefully, won't you? I've got a lot to do when I get back."

Desperanza lifted her friend up and stood. She struggled out of the scarlet ditch and almost drunkenly staggered through the field.

She didn't notice the gunfire turn into silence. She thought only of Olivier, her bold and _arrogant_ Olivier, the Ice Queen.


	2. Two - Dishonoured

She was sat on a bench outside the tent for seemingly endless hours, watching the nurses leave with bloodied sheets and return with clean ones, their foreheads dripping sweat onto their masks. The moon was rising behind her as her friend screamed inside. Other men and women walked past her, each one giving her sorrowful glances in silence.

Only at around midnight did someone stop in front of her. She saw a pair of shining black boots and blue trousers, and looked up to see a man with a ponytail in a fading white vest. He smiled a little, dark eyes slightly scrunched up.

"She'll pull through," he said, his voice naturally deep and almost rasping. "She's stronger than she looks."

Ross sighed. "I know. I'm just worried, I don't know why." She pushed back her unruly fringe. "And she's still human, no matter how much she tries to prove that she isn't."

The man sat beside her and she instinctively moved herself an inch away from him. He braced a pair of pale arms on his legs and both soldiers fell silent, each one welcoming the other's company. Ross yawned, the adrenaline rush from near six hours ago finally wearing off. She sighed and rubbed her eyes.

"It's been a long day for you, right?" the man asked quietly. She nodded, head in her hands. "You need to rest, lieutenant."

She sat up, exhaling slowly. "No, I don't, I need to be here for Olivier. Who even are you? Who gave you the authority to tell me what I must do?"

"Good question." The man lifted a hand in introduction. "Kimblee, Solf J. Red Lotus Alchemist." Ross took his hand and shook it. She found it wasn't as calloused as she believed all men's hands to be. It was soft, yet firm, and she found comfort in it, despite the grim memories she had of similar hands.

"Ross, Desperanza. Lieutenant to Olivier Armstrong." She smiled, and her face hurt from the sudden change of emotion. Probably shouldn't do that, she thought. "You're quite famous, Mr Kimblee. It's a pleasure to meet the man who killed so many innocents in cold blood."

"You think what we do is wrong, lieutenant?" Kimblee smirked, as if he thought he could take what she could give.

"What _you_ do, yes." Ross smirked right back. "You kill and think it beautiful, you kill for the individual good. I kill and pity them as well as myself. Because I'm being told to do these things, and because I feel remorse, I feel as though we - all of us - will never be forgiven or forgotten by these people."

"Even you, _your righteousness_?" he asked, almost challenging her. "Will you not be atoned for?"

Ross laughed, accepting his silent challenge. "Of course not. Just because I saved a few lives doesn't mean I'm a good person. But _you_ , Kimblee, parents will tell their children stories about how you killed hundreds, even thousands. You will be haunting the minds of children for years to come. I myself would have told my children of your atrocities."

Kimblee opened his mouth, presumably about to say a sarcastic comment about her sentimentality, but was cut off by the head doctor leaving the medical tent. Ross turned sharply and stood.

"You can see her now," the doctor said. "She's still quite weak, and she's had a lot of medicine, so she might not be so talkative."

She smiled, new hope in her eyes. "Thank you, Doctor Rockbell. I couldn't be happier, thank you so much!" Ross walked quickly past him and inside the tent, leaving Kimblee alone out in the cold night.

Olivier was sat up, her eyes closed and her breathing slow. She seemed as though she was trying to get over her loss of reputation by staying in the position that would cause her more problems. She sniffed.

"Liv?" Ross called softly, trying to get her friend's attention. "Liv, it's me. You need to lie down. You won't be doing yourself any-"

"I don't care about what good I do myself now, Dess," Olivier replied, her eyes still closed. "I'm a wreck and I'm humiliated. I can't deal with this anymore. With the dishonour I have brought upon the Armstrong name."

"You're humiliated, huh," she said, angrily, "why, because you got help?"

"Because I did not die on the field as my ancestors did!" yelled Olivier, snapping her eyes open.

"Well perhaps you should think of others before yourself!"

"Who would have missed me, Desperanza? Who? Who would not rejoice at my loss? You?"

"Of course not! I would miss you, you fucking _imbecile_!" Ross bellowed. She could feel the tears dripping down her face. "What would I have done if you had died out there, Olivier, knowing that I could have prevented it? I would be lying out there in a body bag beside you, that's what! I would give my life just for one chance to see you again! Just one chance to say..." She trailed off, falling to the cloth-covered ground with all of her energy taken from her. Sobbing, she didn't notice the open entry gap between the tent sheets, nor the lean figure making moonlit shadows.

"Are you both okay?" asked Kimblee, as if he cared. As if he knew what was going on. "I heard yelling and a crying woman."

Olivier stayed sitting in her bed, silent. "I can handle myself," Ross said quietly. "I don't need your help. Or anyone else's, for that matter. It's not like she needs mine." She stood, turning away from her friend. "I hope you get better, Olivier. And, if I don't see you again, I hope you know that there are people out there who care about you. If not me, then Alex. Catherine. _Miles_. Live for them, because God knows that they would die for you." Ross left with Kimblee behind her, leaving Olivier in a stunned silence, regretting all that she had said.

 **WHY DO YOU CUT ME SO DEEP ROSS**

 **I GAVE YOU LIFE WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME**

 ***SOBBING***

 **Yay part 2 is up! Don't forget to vote, comment and/or follow! Ilu**


	3. Three - Waterfalls

"How many children was that today," Ross called, facing away from the man walking towards her. She smiled, his footsteps slowing down as he flopped onto the edge of the rooftop.

Kimblee ran a hand through his hair, yet again failing to keep his two thin bangs in check. "None, actually," he replied with a smile. "Your almost but not quite godly ways are starting to rub off on me, lieutenant."

She laughed. "I feel like a proud mom." There were a few moments of silence. "Please never make me feel that way again."

"I'll certainly attempt to, ma'am."

"And never _ever_ call me ma'am."

He smiled, one side of his mouth going higher up his face than the other. "How come you can never see this time of day back in Central?"

"I see 7:56pm every day when I let my cats out."

"I meant without clouds."

Laughing, Ross leaned back and beating her weight on lightly tanned arms. "Still see it. But, in all seriousness," she said, "why are you still here? Two terms is more than enough, especially in a row."

Kimblee sighed. "I could ask you the same, but I can't say I know, really. It's all a blur, just faces now. Burned into my soul."

"I didn't know you had one."

He smirked at his lap. "Shush," he said in a near whisper with false distress. "No one else knows either."

A bomb went off a mile or two away from the building they sat on, and Ross prepared for the inevitable speech on the beauty of destruction. The same speech she had heard everyday for three months. Since the day Olivier almost left her forever.

 _No, Dess, just get over it, you're fine. You can do this without her. It's not like_ _you were_ together _or something. Right?_

Kimblee took a breath. "I still can't believe you don't think that that's a beautiful sound, I mean-"

"Yes, I know what you mean," Ross cleared her throat and did her best impression of his voice, "' _I mean, listen to the reverberations of the sound waves on the rocks, look at the graceful swirls of dust emanating from the source. Note the choir of Ishvalan screams, and the smell of smoke permeating the air, and the_ -'"

He sighed again, following it with an exasperated laugh. "Alright, I understand. I'll stop." Silent, he stood, and Ross turned to see him walk a few steps away.

"Did I hit a nerve?" she asked jokingly.

He turned and smiled. "Get up. We leave in fifteen minutes."

"What? Why? Are you insane? I'm on duty in half an hour!"

"You haven't slept in three days, idiot. Don't call me insane. I've done worse things," his voice had a thin lining of regret. "Plus, I pulled a few strings earlier, so Mustang's in your place. I hope you can forgive me for keeping your soul a bit cleaner."

 _Mustang_. She remembered the name, he was an alchemist, like Kimblee. She had fought next to him a few times. He specialised in fire, she believed, and was quite friendly with Hawkeye. Lucky man, she thought. Silently, she thanked Kimblee for whatever he had planned, but also feared for Mustangs life. _What if he dies in my place? Oh god, it would be my fault, it would be-_

"Are you coming?"

Ross stood and turned, smiling. "Yeah, sorry." She followed him, and stepped only where he did as he climbed down the building. Only when she looked down at him did she become flustered. "If you dare attempt to look up I will-"

Kimblee laughed, keeping his eyes down. "Just because everyone thinks I'm a creep doesn't mean that I spend every waking moment ogling women, lieutenant. I'm not that low."

"So you still admit that you're a creep, then?"

"Everyone's entitled to their own opinion. I would say I'm an impractical visionary."

"Yeah well, I agree with them. You're a creep. But," Ross smiled, and Kimblee grabbed her waist as she reached the ground, " _I_ am the creepiest of them all!"

He raised a thin eyebrow in challenge of her claim. It seemed to scream _how so_?

"There are five cats in my house. There are posters of various theatre productions. There are posters of loads of men on my walls. I am married to all of them."

"Yes, I feel I have to agree that you're the bigger creep. Now we need a car."

"Why do we need a car? Can't we just, I don't know, maybe, make a big gorge in the direction we're going?"

"Because first, that's a stupid idea. And, if you want to walk 15 miles through desert to the middle of nowhere, be my guest, lieutenant."

"No thanks."

The car ride seemed to last the night. Ross looked out of the window for the whole trip, studying the stars she thought she saw anew. Kimblee glanced at her over his shoulder as he drove, and smiled at how she seemed so calm and renewed, how unlike the soldier he knew to be both ruthless but lachrymose. It was as if she forgot the world she left behind. As if she was a different person.

"Close your eyes." He broke the comfortable silence, causing her to look at him, confused. "We're almost there and I want to surprise you, if it's alright."

She rolled her eyes and covered them with a hand. "I don't really like surprises," she sighed.

He smiled again, saying "I know for a fact you'll like this one." The car slowed to a stop in the middle of what seemed to be nowhere, and he got out. Opening the door for her, he took Ross' spare hand and guided her outside. "It's just a few minutes from here," he said, making sure she didn't look.

"This had better be worth it," Ross smirked. She stumbled over a pebble on the seemingly rocky path and Kimblee muttered an apology. They slowed down, and there was a different taste, a different smell to the desert air she was used to. She heard the sound of birds, and loud, rushing water. "Where are we? Is this even in Ishval?"

"Yes, we're still in Ishval, barely," he sounded exasperated. "I found this place on a scouting mission a few months ago. It would have been a shame to tear it up for a camp."

"That's really quite ironic, coming from the famous ' _mad_ _bomber_ '."

He let out a laugh and said "You can look now."

She moved her hand from her face and spun around, taking in the new scenery around her. In place of the vast desert, there was a towering waterfall that fell from a mountain face into a deep pool surrounded by green plants and exotic birds, and flowers she had never knew existed. It was so unlike the land she had spent more than a year getting used to, and so unlike Kimblee to bring her here. Where has the famous murderer gone, she thought, and something in the back of her mind screamed that he had been replaced by some stranger. She smiled at the idea, and turned to him, her eyes bright.

"Where are we?" she asked again.

"A few miles from the Great Desert," Kimblee replied, looking to the East. "A day's horse ride from the ruins of Xerxes." At that she faced roughly North-East, a hand on her heart, with a vacant expression on her face, and her golden eyes closed. "What's the matter?"

She smiled, spinning on her heel. "Nothing, nothing at all!" Ross walked towards the shimmering pool and saw colourful fish of unusual types swimming in the clandestine water. She kneeled in front of it, running a hand through the gentle waves, before she sat down fully. "Who'd have thought that such beauty could exist in this barren wasteland?"

"Hmm." Kimblee sat to her left, gazing at her. "Who'd have thought."

Pulling off a leather boot, she groaned. "Like they're sewn onto me," she mumbled, straining to remove the other, and fell onto her back once it was off. She laughed, and dropped her bare feet into the cool water, splashing Kimblee.

He smiled, taking in her near-childish joy. She stretched her toes under the water and relished in the feeling. "How long's it been?" he asked, softly. "Since you arrived here?"

"One year, six months and two days," Ross replied quickly. "Speaking of which," she shot up, "I could use these flowers for tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?"

She had wandered over towards the shrubs to pick a few dark red, dull yellow and dark purple flowers, as well as some long grasses. "Anniversary of my first mission. Hey, grass in the center or spread out?"

She she held out the bouquet. "Center," he replied after a moment. She nodded, and used a thick leaf to tie them all together before returning to where she sat before. "What are those even for?"

"As I said," she sighed, flopping down, "the anniversary of my first mission is tomorrow, and it's to remember everyone who died that day."

He twisted around to face her. "How many of us did they kill, lieutenant?"

She smiled softly, her feet in the water again and her bouquet by her side. "That's the thing, Kimblee. _None_. No Amestrian soldier died that day."

"Then who are you-" He was struck by a sudden realization. "Oh. I understand."

Her eyes fell to the pool before her, and her smile faded. "Three thousand, one hundred and seventy five civilian deaths within two hours. No wonder it's called the Metachi Massacre. It was a bloodbath."

Kimblee smiled for a moment. "I remember. The sand was stained red for weeks."

"More than six months." She sighed, her mind turning to that day, eighteen months ago...

 **So, this is where I had to end this before it got too long. The next part of this will be up soon enough, so don't worry!**

 **And yay for obviously out of character Kimblee!**


	4. Four - Blood in the Sand

Eighteen months had passed since the massacre. She remembered it all, every detail clear in her head. Every sound, every smell, every face was present in the nightmares she had of that awful day, the memories that wreaked havoc inside her.

The soldiers had entered through the single unlocked entrance to the plaza, and formed two lines near to it, effectively blocking any attempt of escape. There was a meeting taking place, and the Ishvalans were crowded together, kneeling on the dust. One, standing on a box, yelled something in a foreign language to them, and they replied with a single word each time he finished.

The military translator told them to disperse, but still the meeting continued. An Ishvalan replied, and he had replied saying that "If God has told us that it is our time, then He has willed it to be so." They were told again. The Ishvalans remained.

A military official told the Alchemists to step forward, one between each swordsman. To her left was a smiling man with a ponytail, to her right was a man who wore white gloves bearing red transmutation circles. He seemed to be conflicted about what each soldier knew was going to happen there, while Ponytail rejoiced inwardly. The official then said that they were to open fire on the crowd, and to shoot to kill.

Ponytail slipped something small and red into his mouth and obliged immediately. He put his hands together, placed them on the ground and from them came bolts of red light, followed by a part of the ground beneath the crowd exploding, debris falling on several people. _He just bypassed the Law of Equivalent Exchange,_ Ross thought _. How?_

Gloves clicked his fingers and flames spouted from them like a burst water pipe. His eyes were closed and his head was turned away from the crowd, as if he couldn't stand what he was doing, what he had become a part of. The smell of burning flesh made its way back towards them, and a few swordsmen in the back row turned and vomited on the wall. The alchemist gulped, seemingly preventing himself from doing the same.

They were told to move forward, to target the Ishvalans who tried to climb the walls and escape. The ones she stood between moved onward, stepping over scorched and bloody corpses. She and the other swordsmen were ordered to draw their swords, and so they did. Her hands shook as she held it between them, she moved into her stance with fear of the oncoming orders.

"Onward," yelled the official, "kill all those who are still alive."

She stepped toward the first line of the dead and injured. Eyes closed, she pierced through the chest of each one, their blood spilling out onto the sand. Only then did Ross understand the vastness of the dwindling crowd. There were women and children lying on the ground, unmoving. Still, she stabbed each one in the heart.

A pregnant woman.

A crying baby.

Each one silenced by her sword.

The Alchemists pulled back, on orders to let the swordsmen have some sport. Gloves ran back past her, his eyes red and a hand over his nose and mouth. Ponytail remained leaning on a wall, glaring enviously at the few nearly unharmed Ishvalans they had cornered, as if he were a wolf hunting sheep.

Ross and her fellow soldiers moved forward and were told to kill them at will. One of the Ishvalans stepped in front of the others. He couldn't have been older than sixteen, and held a knife in his shaking hands.

"Murderers!" he cried. "May you know the fires of Hell!"

He charged towards her, and only when he was within striking distance did she flip her sword, slicing him from his navel to his sternum. He fell to the floor, and a woman in the group sobbed, calling his name while warm blood dripped from her sword onto her boots.

She sheathed her sword and turned her head, refusing to watch the rest of them face a similar fate, but doing nothing to silence the sounds that cut off the screams.

She had run off into an alley beyond the exit, and braced herself on the wall. Her eyes were forced shut as she tried to stop the faces of each one she killed from flashing through her head. Too many thoughts of them burst into the front of her mind and a tear fell from her eyes. This was followed by another, and another, and another, and within minutes she was sobbing. The stench of burning flesh still present in her memory, she could feel everything inside her rising to the surface.

Ross didn't know how truly literal that feeling was until she was heaving her breakfast into a nearby drain, and fell to the ground. Tears streamed down her face as her throat burned, as the vomit forced it's way up her gullet.

A woman in the street cleared her throat, telling Ross of her presence. " _Pathetic_ ," she mumbled, walking towards her. Ross wiped her face with the back of her fist as a pale hand was placed on her shoulder. "Come with me."

The officer tried to stand but her legs collapsed beneath her, and she fell to the ground again. She was helped up by the stranger and walked with her hand dragging against the wall, the women silently cooperating with each other.

"She took me to a medical tent," Ross continued, "and told me that I wasn't the only one like that. There were several others in my condition, including Gloves, who I later found out was named Roy Mustang. When we arrived, he was lying on a bed with a bucket on the floor next to him."

Kimblee smirked. "He never did have a strong stomach," he cut in. "But I thought you of all people would-"

"I wasn't used to fighting, remember?" She went back to her tale. "Anyway, Doctor Rockbell and his wife looked after everyone in the tents by themselves, and often told us about the young daughter they had left back in Something-bool.

"The days blurred into each other afterwards," she sighed, leaning back on her arms. "After three days the woman came back and introduced herself as Olivier Armstrong, who had been brought down from Briggs. She was here with her brother Alex. He was in the bed next to mine and was built of pure muscle. You should know him, he cries a lot." He nodded, remembering the insanely buff man with a low emotional tolerance. "She refused to speak with him, calling him a disappointment."

"So she was perfectly normal, then?"

"Pretty much, but allow me to continue," Ross slapped his hand gently. She smiled at him playfully and looked back at the waterfall. "Once he had purged himself a good few times, Mustang would flirt with every single woman in the tent, including Mrs Rockbell and myself." Kimblee clenched his fists, his teeth grinding. "His persistence was actually quite admirable. He would use a clichéd pick up line, laugh at himself and then proceed to throw up in his bucket." She smiled fondly at the memory, oblivious to what her friend was doing. "It was cute."

He looked away, angered. "Hmm. What was the worst one?"

"Probably," she giggled at the thought of it, " _There's a big sale on in my bedroom, clothes are one hundred percent off_!"

"I know better."

"Course you do, your excellence. Pray, tell me this magnificent chat up line."

He laughed once, rubbing his neck. "What are you doing for the rest of your life? Because I want to spend it with you."

Ross turned, smiling, to see the man who sat gazing at her. "That was pretty good," she murmured, her golden eyes fixated on his own dark ones. "Go for it. I won't stop you."

Kimblee fell onto his back in shock, her words echoing through his head. That wasn't supposed to work, he thought. "Rea- I mean," he composed himself, "I was j-just kidding, there's already a-a girl waiting for me back home, and we're quite serious. Sorry."

"Oh," Ross looked down at her lap, "good on you. Is she pretty?"

"Yeah. Brown hair, dark eyes, kind of against all this." _Solf, you just described your mom. What are you doing? Oh I remember, you're digging your own grave, here._ "Do you have anyone?" _Good save, good save._

She sighed. "Used to. He was tall and strong, with long blond hair and hazel eyes." You just described some random guy. You know what he looks like, Dess. But then I would describe myself. Oh yeah. "He had bad intentions, in the end. Haven't seen him in a while, I don't know if he's still alive, but it was the longest and happiest relationship I've ever been in. We were going to get married..." She trailed off, rubbing her eyes to stop the tears.

He put a comforting arm around her waist. "I know, I know." He looked up and saw the moon making it's way back down the starlit sky. "We need to go."

They rose from the ground, Ross clutching the wildflower bouquet in one hand and Kimblee's spare arm with the other. She walked with her head on his shoulder, and he smiled softly. Neither one spoke and both took solace in the other's company. It seemed that all was right with the world.

Until the bullet ripped through her hip.

 **OH CLIFFHANGER ENDING I'M SORRY**

 **yay for a way to get Kimblee back into character!**


	5. Five - Overreaction

_It seemed that all was right with the world._

 _Until the bullet ripped through her hip._

Ross fell to the ground, a cry of agony escaping her lips. Her blue uniform was stained red with her own blood, her skin beneath it burned with pain. She lay on the dust, only a few steps from the safety of the car, as Kimblee's hands cradled her head. He looked in the direction of the shot, his eyes wide with anger as he identified the shooter.

An Ishvalan man, sitting in a tree half a mile off. The bottom of his face was covered with a cloth, but his dark skin and white hair gave him away. _It seems just_ , she thought, _a life for a life._ Her companion's hands gently slipped from behind her as he stood, walking slowly towards the Ishvalan.

He flexed his fingers in preparation for the oncoming slaughter. A few yards away from her, he clapped his hands and pressed his palms into the dust. Kimblee grinned, a new-found sense of revenge and an undying wrath in his heart. Red sparks flew from his hands and the tree fell with a deep thud. He ran to it, and put both hands on the ground once more. The tree was a pile of wood chips, the Ishvalan's clothes torn to shreds.

Ross hissed as he returned, pressing both hands on the wound to try and stop the bleeding. She pressed her eyes closed as strong, pale arms lifted her from the ground and into the back of the car. Kimblee walked quickly to the drivers seat and started it up, going at a blatantly insane speed back to the camp.

"Please slow down on the corners!" Ross used all of her remaining strength to try and stay on the seats. She bit her lip as he turned, throwing her about in the back. "Oh god, oh god, _slow down_!"

" _Do you want to die_?" Kimblee yelled over his shoulder. "Shut up and let me drive," he snapped at her silence.

She hadn't seen this side of him for a while, he had been rather kind for months. This sudden protective outburst had come as a surprise to her. She murmured an apology and stayed silent for the rest of the drive, her breathing shallow.

The car came to an abrupt stop outside the Rockbell's medical tent, and Kimblee almost broke the door as he pulled it roughly open. He picked her up bridal style once again and jogged into the tent. Her vision faded with all of the lost blood, and she fainted in his arms, her body going limp.

"She's been shot," he said when a nurse came to assist them, "in the hip. Please help her! She's important to me! I can't lose her!" He became frantic as he was told to lay her down on a bed, and collapsed on the floor beside her. "She has people to go back to!"

Mrs Rockbell put a motherly hand on his shoulder. "We've done this many times, sir, I assure you that she'll be fine." He looked up as she patted his back. She smiled, attempting to comfort him. "Don't worry, she's stronger than she looks."

Memories of the day he first met Ross flashed through his head as she left, pulling the privacy curtains closed. He smiled, remembering he was in the same condition as she was. Running a hand through his unruly hair, he stood, and planned for the day before him.

He stood on their rooftop, looking down at the _monsters_ who tried to rebuild their homes, oblivious of his presence. Smiling, he held the red stone in his hand and placed it beneath his tongue. Kimblee laughed as he raised his hands and push them together with an excessive amount of force. His palms touched the rubble and the half-built houses crumbled, as painful screams of anguish filled his ears.

Climbing down from his vantage point, he jumped from the platform closest to the ground. He walked around the house with a smug grin, relishing in the blood that poured into the dust. Kimblee scoffed. "Seems God couldn't save you."

He walked onwards, killing any Ishvalans he saw on his path. Particles of dust flew into the air with every explosion, and echoes of pain flew with them. He lost count of the kills quickly, and soon found himself standing in front of a barricade made of tables and chairs. The men behind it carried machine guns, similar to the one that shot Ross.

"Oh, hello," he said, rejoicing inwardly, "this could be fun."

The men opened fire, and he replied with red bolts and bloodshed. Smiling, he saw only fields beyond it, and turned around, hoping to find more barricades on the return journey.

Ross woke up sore. The operation had taken hours, apparently, and was one of Rockbell's greatest challenges. She groaned as she tried to sit up, looking for Kimblee.

"Oh no, no, _no_!" cried Mrs Rockbell, managing to gently push her down. "You need to rest, dear. No use hurting yourself more."

Her head flicked from side to side, searching for the man who brought her here. "Where's-"

"He left after you were admitted," she smiled, trying to make her feel better. "I don't know where he went exactly, but if what people are saying is true..."

Ross sat up quickly, and regretted it, but held her head up high. "What has he done?!" she exclaimed. " _What has he done_?!"

Mrs Rockbell sighed, stepping back. "I'm afraid he's gone round the bend. Biggest spree in years, apparently, killed a few superiors. You can see the explosions from outside-"

She shot up from her bed and ran out of the tent, hysterical and afraid. The wind sent a chill up her spine, and she realized that she was only in a thin hospital gown that didn't leave much to the imagination. But still she saw the dust clouds rising from the city. Still she heard the screams. Still, she knew what was happening less than a mile away from her.

"God, Kimblee," she breathed, a hand over her mouth in shock. "What are you doing?"

Ross ran towards the explosions, regretting the choice as she stood on sharp rocks and cold blood. She turned left and right, almost maddened with fear. "Kimblee!" She yelled to him. No reply. She continued until she found herself on a main road, warm blood splattered on the cobbles. Hands emerged from beneath the rubble, falling limp within moments.

She saw him walking over corpses, a smile gracing his lips as he grew closer to her. His eyes were dark, full of malice, and his smile was pure hate. He bowed when he was a few feet away from her.

"I thought you would come out here," he smirked, "if I did this." He spread his hands out, hinting at the destruction all around him. "How do you feel?"

One of her hands covered where she was hit. "Much worse than when I was shot, that's for sure," she scoffed. He moved towards her and she stepped back. "Why did you do this, Kimblee? What have you got to gain but a lifelong prison sentence or worse?"

"I wanted revenge for what they did to you," a pale hand cupped her face and she pulled away, his hand swiftly returning to his side, "is that not reason enough, Dess?"

She glared at him with disgust and shame. "You don't get to call me that, Kimblee. Never again in your wretched life."

"Is that all that bothers you, my dear? Not the murder, just your _name_?" She could feel his hot breath on her forehead, and a cold hand trail down her chest to her wound.

She breathed deeply, preparing her answer. His hand moved closer to the centre of her and she acted on pure instinct. Her knee rose at speed, and he fell to the floor, hands covering his crotch. "That's what you get for being rapey," she smirked. "Bitch."

She turned around and began to walk towards the camp, stopping as she heard the sound of a man clapping his hands. Turning abruptly, she saw his grin, and her eyes widened with shock.

"You wouldn't dare!" she cried, a hand held out as an attempt at some form of safety.

"Oh, I would." Kimblee smirked. "But I know what can stop you from dying right now."

She was taken aback by his bargaining. "Money? Land? What? What is it?"

"A kiss," he paused, smiling, "from you."

"There is no chance in _hell_ of-"

" _Do you want to die_?" He yelled again, in a completely different manner than that of yesterday. "Do you not want to live for your Olivier, your Mustang? Huh? What would they do after this?"

Ross looked at the ground, at blood that could soon be mixed with her own. _He has a point_ , she thought, forlorn. _Didn't you tell Olivier the same thing_?

"Alright," she whispered, eyes closed. "I have to do this, for them." She took a step forward, towards the psychopath in front of her, his arms spread wide. He enveloped her in a cold embrace and tilted her head so she could see him.

Kimblee smiled, putting a stray strand of her hair behind an ear. "Isn't this nice," he whispered. "If you had just let this happen earlier, then maybe some of those Ishvalans might have been alive tomorrow." He pressed his lips against her forehead and moved softly down the left side of her face, pausing before he reached her lips.

Ross swore to herself that she would keep both eyes open as his lips trailed down her face, but this was proving to be extremely difficult. He would pull away after each kiss and smirk as she unconsciously moved her head towards him, urging him on. She moaned as he reached her cheekbone, and covered her mouth in shock.

"Should I stop," he whispered in her ear, smugly.

She shook her head and he continued. Once he had paused at her lips, she glared at him and raised an eyebrow. Had enough?

He smiled as his lips crashed down on hers, and they stood in the rubble, her eyes closed and a hand reaching for his ponytail and twisting the hair around her finger. Their tongues danced in each others mouths. His hands got lost in her golden waves, and remained there after they broke apart.

"That wasn't so bad, now was it," he smirked, letting go of her. She touched her lip in an attempt to keep the feeling there. Shaking her head wildly, she took a step back. "Thought not."

They stood in silence for a few moments, until the roaring sounds of a car approached. "They're going to arrest you, you know," Ross said quietly, "for what you did today."

Kimblee tucked his thumbs into his belt and nodded. "Yeah," he shrugged his shoulders. "Guess I had it coming. You knew it would happen. If I had to choose either dying a prisoner or living as a fugitive, you know what one I'd rather pick."

"Yes. I think I do," she breathed.

The car stopped a few feet away. The doors opened and two men with uniforms walked over to them. "Solf J Kimblee," the man with a mustache called. "You are under arrest for insubordination, the first degree murder of several military officials and the crime of genocide. What say you sir?"

"I say," he took a breath, "I say your decision is just. You have done what you needed to do and you have done your duty, gentlemen." He held out his hands so that they could put his hands in stocks. They did and he walked towards a car. "Good sir, could you get the door? I'm not able to get it in my current situation." Mustache opened it, confused at his eagerness.

"Uh, of course," he said. "Now, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used in court against you." Mustache turned to face Ross. "Thank you for keeping him here, ma'am."

Kimblee paused before he sat down and stood up for a few moments. "Oh, and Dess? Hospital gowns suit you quite nicely."

He sat down in the car, smiling softly, wondering when he might see Ross again.

 **Yay lads we've finished the Ishval section! At last! Plus oh my god THIS CHAPTER WAS MORE THAN 2K WORDS SWEET BABY HOMUNCULI!**

 **Anyway, I'm sorry for making Kimblee go all rapey there. NON CON IS NOT COOL AND IT DOESN'T MAKE YOU LOOK BADASS.**


	6. Six - Fraternisation

"When did you learn how to forge my signature, lieutenant?" Mustang frowned, flicking through the piles of previously unsigned paperwork.

Ross smiled softly. "Lieutenant Hawkeye taught me when I was first placed under your command, sir, as a precaution."

He laughed, putting the papers on his desk. "I'll be sure to compliment her on her skills later. You're dismissed, thank you." She turned, walking to the door without a word. "Lieutenant?" he called as she opened the door. "You know, if I may say it, your hair looks nice down."

She smiled and closed the door behind her, leaning against it and sliding to the floor in relief. Only standing when she saw a pair of feet before her, Ross saluted the Lieutenant Colonel.

"Have fun in there?" Hawkeye asked with a smirk. "Hope he didn't try and do anything too _dirty_."

"No," she laughed, "he was just wondering about the forged signatures, that's all. Oh, and he complimented my hair. Usual stuff."

"Hmm." The lieutenant pursed her lips.

Ross laughed and took a few steps down the corridor. "Don't worry," she called, "he's still more interested in you than in me." Turning, she stuck her tongue out at the stoic blonde and received in reply a very rude hand gesture. Ross smiled and walked towards the near-empty staff room, picking up and throwing a crumpled ball of paper at Havoc who stood smoking an unlit cigarette by the window.

"What the-" He turned, angered before noticing the woman by the door. "Oh, it's just you. That's alright, then."

"Is that so?"

Havoc smiled as Ross braced herself on the desk, her chest pushed forward to provoke him. _He's always been a sucker for big boobs_. He licked his lips and rubbed his neck. "A pretty girl like you can't be that bad a person, right?"

She smiled. "You have _no idea_." Taking in the room, she noted the lack of subordinates in the room. "Where is everyone?"

"Hughes wouldn't leave by himself, so they sacrificed themselves to get him out. They've probably died of boredom by now," he smirked. "What? Why didn't I go, you ask?"

"I didn't but go on."

He turned back to the window. "There's a girl down there who's been trying to talk to me!"

Ross got up and stood beside him. "Is she cute?"

"Hell yes."

She peered out of the window to see the dark haired woman sitting on a bench outside. "You know she works here, right?" Havoc's face fell. "I know her. I could get you a date if you want."

His eyes returned to the bright state they were in before. "Really? You would do that?"

"Like you said, a pretty girl like me can't be that bad a person." Ross smirked at him, winking. "Her name's Sasha, and she always has lunch at the cafe across the street from here. Every time, she has the Liorean baguette. She only talks to people who order the Xingese pulled pork bun. And," she turned to face him fully, "she _hates_ smokers."

He slumped. "Oh, I'll never get a girlfriend," he whined, hopeless as ever. "Why do all the cute ones end up hating me?"

She put a hand on his back in an attempt at comfort. "You're not as bad as me, I've had two almost-relationships in the last couple of years. Neither worked out, but it's okay because I know there's a good chance I'll never see them again."

"Anyone I know?"

"The coldest, most stubborn woman I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, a true _Ice Queen_." His face was full of shock (and awe at the brave endeavor) as she spoke. "And the other, well, let's just say that he was a madman. I don't really want to talk about it." Havoc moved away from her, looking at the lieutenant with new eyes. "Not really the best I could have gone for but still, what can you do."

His eyes wide, Havoc shook his head in disbelief. "Man, you are hardcore, Ross! Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"And what if I want to?" The colonel leaned on the door frame, a smirk escaping his lips, with Lieutenant Hawkeye standing behind him carrying a set of files and rolling her eyes. "Shouldn't you be sorting out some paperwork, Havoc?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but, knowing that he wouldn't win against a commanding officer, closed it again quickly. Havoc then turned to the papers on a desk to his left.

Mustang walked in and spun around to look at the room. "Where are Breda, Falman and Fuery?" he asked with a frown.

Ross laughed once and answered for the now-hardworking second lieutenant. "They're with Hughes, he wouldn't leave earlier so they sacrificed themselves."

"Ah."

"How long has he been like that?" Hawkeye said, frowning at the silent colonel with his head on the desk.

Ross looked at the clock. _Damn. Five thirty already_? "About an hour and a half." The lieutenant sighed and picked up a book from the table to her left. She lifted it above her head with both hands and slammed it down on Mustang's desk.

He started, reaching into the drawers for his ignition gloves in a daze, before noticing the laughter of his subordinates. He raised a finger to them and rubbed his eyes. "I hate you all," Mustang muttered, "seriously, fuck you."

The women smiled. Ross stood and patted Hawkeye on the back, and gathered up her paperwork. "On that delightful note, my shift's over. Havoc! Car! Now!" She near-skipped from the room, stopping to wait for her lift home. Havoc sighed with a smile, stood up and informally saluted the remaining men and woman in the office.

The two blondes walked to his car in silence. He was at a slower pace than she was, and took the time to just appreciate the view he had of her from behind. She had a similar build to Lieutenant Hawkeye, both having relatively broad shoulders and wide hips. Ross' waist was somewhat smaller however, and her - _damn fine_ \- legs were a little larger around the thighs, something he was definitely not against, and her calves were tight and muscular. Havoc was reminded of Rebecca - another damn fine woman in his eyes - when he looked at the waved golden ponytail that flowed down her back, and when someone annoyed her. She would occasionally just snap completely, releasing her wrath upon the poor soul who dared go against her or what she said. Jean Havoc fully and entirely believed that First Lieutenant Desperanza Ross was an excellent and brutal woman.

"Hey, Ross," he called, taking a cigarette from his pocket. She turned, her head cocked slightly to the left. "You know how earlier we were talking about how neither of us can get into a relationship?"

Ross sighed and began walking backwards, in both refusal and the wish for a nice cup of tea. "If this is what I think it is, then I'm truly flattered but-"

"Are you gay?"


	7. Seven - Smoke and Mirrors

"Sorry, what?!"

Havoc blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, but are you? Are you gay?"

She smiled and shook her head. This is the most blunt way I've heard it in a while. Dammit Havoc. "Remember, the psycho was male. That nullifies it." Again, she sighed. "But, in the sense that I experience same-sex attraction, yeah. It varies - I don't understand it myself."

Havoc remained silent for a while. "So," he said as they reached his car, "you're not gay, but you're not... what?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Have you ever been hu-"

"Don't ask it."

"What? I just want to make sure that the people I lo- _work_ with are alright!"

"And I am, there's your answer. So," she glared at him. " _Drop. It._ "

There was the Desperanza Ross he knew. "Sorry," he grumbled as he opened a door for her. She got in and looked down at her lap, silent once more, as her hands played with the golden strands of hair that fell over her shoulder. He had gone overboard, right? He had pushed her too hard, too far away from him. "I've really fucked this up, haven't I," he said to himself as he drove.

Her eyes flitted to him as he spoke, some kind of apology trying to figure itself out in her head and a guilt in her heart. She frowned and bit her lip. "It's my fault, too. Don't cut yourself up about it." She paused. "Sorry. I'm just really stressed out."

Havoc nodded and brought out a pair of cigarettes from his pocket. He held one out to her, she took it and put it into her mouth. After grabbing the lighter beside him, she leaned closer to him as he slowed down at a red light, and he lit it for her. Ross looked at him and breathed in the smoke, coughing once as she exhaled. He smiled, lighting his own and murmuring "Been a while, huh?"

She smirked. "I forgot how bad these things taste." Taking another breath, she opened her window, and turned to let the smoke dissipate. Minutes passed in silence until the car stopped outside her apartment building. Ross opened the car door, shook off the ashes and stepped onto the path. "Hey," she said, leaning back into the car, "if you want, I'm not going to pressure you, just if you want to, you can come over in about half an hour. As some sort of apology."

Havoc nodded and smiled. "I'll be there." She closed the door and took a step back towards the building. He drove away and waved to her, as she went inside to prepare both herself and her flat.

Havoc was pretty sure that he broke at least four speed limits on his way home. His heart was pounding inside his chest, his mind was running wild with various fantasies that had heavily featured Ross and someone's apartment.

When he returned home, Havoc ran up the stairs and practically barged through the doors in front of him, be it the sturdy building door or the locked apartment door. He closed it behind him and almost ripped the uniform off of his body, his hands working quickly at the buttons and laces. Then, as he was standing near-naked in front of his closet, came the hard part - how was he supposed to look in this situation? Should he go casual and look like a slob, or formal and look like a rich prick? After a few minutes of fully dissecting his closet, he came to some sort of a conclusion.

He had nothing to wear.

But wait - how many times had he done this? Havoc laughed, and began going through what he did back when he had a date last. _Step one_ , he thought, _what's her favourite colour? Blue? Nah, too cold. Red? Too hot. Purple?_ _Yeah, she's a purple type of girl._ He nodded, and grabbed a shirt from his bed. He could put the others away later. Oh, but wait! How could he forget deodorant in this most fortuitous situation?

 _Step two, what does she like most - humour or etiquette_? He took a moment to consider it, _she likes both, I suppose. You know what,_ he picked up a pair of dark blue jeans, _let's just say humour_. He pulled them on and stood before the mirror, admiring himself.

There was something missing, however, something important that he had completely forgotten about. _Step three, bring a gift that's opposite to the pants situation. In this case, flowers._ He remembered the old woman and her stall, which he drove past on the way home. Havoc smiled - there was no way that he wasn't going to spend the night with Ross.

She had nothing to wear.

How long had it been since a situation like this? Definitely more than a few years. Wait, was the last time she had been on a date before Ishval? Before the military? Before high school? Probably.

The piles of clothes on her bed grew, and her clock ticked ever closer to 6:15. Five minutes before he was to arrive, she decided on a nice whi- no, not a white shirt, that would mean her bra would show up throughout the fabric. _Well, in that case,_ she thought, _might as well_. Ross buttoned up her shirt and after she rolled up the long sleeves, pulled the black pencil skirt up past her knees, her thighs, her hips. She smiled at her reflection before hanging up the rest of her clothes. As she finished, she-

 ** _Knock, knock._**

Ross took a breath, and another, and walked towards the door. She looked through the peephole - Havoc stood outside with a bouquet and a smile. She opened the door for him and stepped back.

"You're early," she smiled, leaning on the door.

He smirked and put out his cigarette on the concrete landing. "Fashionably. Oh, and," he held out the flowers, "these are for you.

Ross took them and welcomed him in. "First door on the left." She went into the kitchen and brought through an empty vase, setting it down on the coffee table in front of her sofa. "You drinking?" She made her way back for glasses and alcohol.

"Why not," Havoc stood and walked through with her, pouring the drinks and carrying them back. She thanked him, walking behind him with a bottle of rosé and another of cheap vodka. "This is a nice wine."

She nodded and took a seat next to him on her cream sofa. They remained silent for a while, and took comfort in each other's presence. "Aren't you supposed to be working tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yeah. Aren't you?"

"I work nights on Saturdays, used to be useful for looking after the family. Haven't gotten around to changing it."

Silence returned.

Havoc turned in his seat, taking in his surroundings. "Nice painting," he said, looking at the abstract art on her wall, "never seen it before."

"That's because my eldest daughter painted it for me," she replied, swallowing the rest of her wine in a single gulp and pouring herself another glass as soon as she set it down on the table. "And that one," she pointed at the smaller, more colourful one, "was made by my youngest son."

He frowned and looked at her as she finished her second glass. "I didn't know you had kids," he paused. "This is hard for you to talk about, isn't it, Ross?" She nodded. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's okay," she said quietly. "And please, call me Dess. We aren't at work."

He smiled. "Call me Jean."


	8. Eight - Regrets

**The Desperean date continues!**

"Never have I ever...killed someone." Dess raised her shot glass and drank, eyebrows raised at the man across from her. She smiled and filled the glass once again.

"Ishval, and one time on border control," she explained. "Never have I ever been spanked sexually." Jean slowly raised his glass, blushing as she laughed. "Seriously?"

He filled his glass. "Don't ask. Never have I ever had a pet." Dess slouched and smiled at him. "We were sad kids."

She nodded. "Never have I ever been in drag." Again, Jean drank, and he glared at her as she laughed.

Within the hour, the pair were half drunk. It seemed that their stomachs had retained their alcohol tolerance since high school.

"Wanna play power hour?"

Or so they thought.

"H-hey Dess," Jean slurred, yawning. "What's the time?"

She blinked and looked at her wall clock. "Eleven thirty," she frowned. "Still early."

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "I'm getting old if this is what I feel like just now. I remember in high school, I would stay up until the sun rose."

"That's all?" Dess smirked, and drunkenly staggered towards him before falling to the floor, next to the coffee table. "I remember a time when I'd drink and dance and sing until the next evening, occasionally longer." She sighed, moving slowly to sit next to him without falling, and dropped herself on the sofa. "Those were the days."

Jean nodded. "You know," he began after a moment, turning to face her, "you're a very pretty lady." She smiled and pressed her finger down against his lips, shushing him.

"You are also quite pretty," Dess giggled. He frowned slightly, but smiled nonetheless. "For a country hick." He chuckled softly, and moved her finger away. She pouted with false sadness as she turned away from him in a huff. "And there I was, thinking that this was going well."

Sighing, he shook his head with a smile. "Isn't it?"

She sat with her head leaning on her left hand and said "It's been so long, I can't remember what a good date actually is." He asked her how long it had been. "I don't know anymore, lost count of the years."

There was a pause in the conversation. Jean cleared his throat. "What are your kids like?" he asked softly, sipping at his vodka.

Dess took a moment, confused at his blunt words. "They were, how do I say it, overly humble. Didn't know their own worth, underestimated themselves. All quite unlike their father." She sighed, and took a drink. "Hanne, my eldest daughter, was wise beyond her years and had one of the best strategic minds we knew about. My youngest boy, however, Auruo, was a bloody moron when it came to common sense - and knew it. Still, he was quite skilled in combat, and was on his way to being a champion of kick-boxing."

"You're speaking as if there's more than two of them."

"There was." Their eyes met for a second. "Carla, the second girl, wasn't skilled in the arts or intellect but she was homely, she could cook and sew and clean as though she had been doing it since the day she popped out. And Marco," she smiled, "my first, was kind and gentle and was always able to see the best in people. He was Hanne's twin." She looked to the ceiling, her golden eyes bloodshot with tears.

Jean looked at her. It was almost heartbreaking to see her in this state, drunk and emotional and broken. He promised himself that, no matter what, he'd never see her like this again, despite his inebriation. But he still had one more question. "What happened to them?"

She closed her eyes and blinked. "One word, tragedy. It happened in one night, the single night in a while that I was working, too. I came back home after work and I found them laying on the ground in our living room. They- they looked so peaceful, so still. As if they were just sleeping. Sleeping in their own blood." She turned to him, crying silently. "I can't remember their voices, their mannerisms, their faces. Just words and smaller things. And it was just so hard, y'know? I couldn't take it, living without them. And I- I almost-" Dess sobbed, head in her hands, the ends of her golden hair becoming wet.

He took her into his arms, comforting her and stroking her head. "It's alright," he whispered. "I know it's hard, but you're strong, Dess. You've managed to keep it bottled up for so long, something that I couldn't do if I tried. Hold your head up high, okay? Make them proud." Then, almost out of the blue, he kissed the crown of her head.

She shot up, eyes wide and cheeks red. "Did you really just-"

"Yeah, I did," he frowned, confused at his own actions. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make this awkward, I'll just go." Jean stood and turned, internally screaming at himself.

"Wait!" Dess got up and walked to him, her drunkenness improving her confidence. "It- it's okay. Actually, uh, a- a bit more than okay. So just, don't leave, get back on that couch so I can keep doing what I'm about to do." He frowned again as she came closer, her breath hot against his chest, and their eyes locked. She stood on the tips of her toes, wobbling a little, and put her arms behind his neck. He licked his lips nervously, and she smirked, leaned in further, and closed her eyes.

Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen, both of these people knew _exactly_ what was coming next.

They kissed, lips embracing and tongues dancing. Hands ran down backs, through hair, up shirts. The pair would only part for breath, even as they walked into doors or walls, and even as they fell onto Dess' bed.

 **=== TIME SKIP BROUGHT TO YOU BY THIS WORK BEING SUITABLE FOR MOST TEENS ===**

The next morning, it was safe to say that 'ow' was an understatement. Her head ached, her lips hurt, her back was stiff, and she had definitely done something to her thigh. She blinked, her bedroom ceiling somewhat fuzzy from sleep - or what certainly felt like a lack of it - and yawned, raising her arms. Well, one of them.

Questions were streaming through her mind. Is it always this cold in the morning? I don't remember making my way here... What is this weird weight on my stomach? Where's my other arm? She admitted that the last one was slightly idiotic, there was a decent chance that it was under her pillow, because there was obviously something under there. As for the others, all she did was look down at herself and-

 _WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!_

Dess was lying naked in her bed. Her body had overreacted to the morning chill, and her arm was held in place by another, muscular one, which had also claimed her stomach. She remembered drinking more than she should have the night before, which must have led to whatever strange situation she found herself in at that moment.

Looking around the room, she frowned. It was as if there was no explanation for this, no idea as to how she came to be there. Dess lifted her head to see two pairs of feet, one of them was her own, but the owner of the other, while his feet were strangely familiar, remained a mystery. She turned her head to the right, saw cropped blond hair in a dreadful undercut, and gasped. Frowning again in disbelief, she looked underneath the duvet that covered their bodies. Her eyes widened in both shock and approval as it finally clicked in her mind.

"J-Jean?" She whispered, poking his shoulder. "Jean, get up." He mumbled something about 'Five more... Mom.' Dess smiled. "Don't pull that crap with me - get your farmer ass up because we need to talk."

He moved her hand from his shoulder and rubbed his eyes, pulling his left hand from beneath her pillow. Frowning, he yawned. Jean's eyes opened slowly, he blinked a few times, and went back to frowning. "You're not Mom," he said softly. "Why am I here?"

Dess bit her lip. "Look underneath the covers," she replied simply.

Obliging, he did as he had been told, and gasped at the results. Then, as some sort of oh my god is this really happening moment came upon him, he pulled the duvet from her, and she scrunched her body up in the cold. "Shit," Jean breathed. Again, a second of those moments came and he pulled the covers from his own body, and immediately knew why Dess was shivering. "S-shit!" He hissed and held his forehead - _owowowowow hangovers are not fun._

"Damn right shit," she rubbed her eyes, "we both need some painkillers and neither of us can legally drive, so guess who can't get to work today unless he leaves," checking her bedside clock, she sighed, "unless he left half an hour ago. So you have to walk to wherever you live, call Mustang - and not die when you tell him you can't come in, and maybe come back here or stay there or whatever." He had propped his head up on his hand, his arm had formed a triangle with his neck. "What?" she asked as he just stared at her. "Is there something on my face?"

Jean shook his head a little, smirked, and kissed her softly, focusing on her bottom lip for some reason. He pulled back and looked at her neck, and despite her internal protestations, went to kiss her right shoulder. She had rested her hands on her stomach, he kissed both, his eyes on hers. He then moved them away, and kissed several places on her abdomen: just beneath her chest; both sides of her waist; but paused as he saw the bottom of her stomach, just above the hairline.

There were four scars there, each one a straight line, with the fourth going through the others horizontally. He looked at her questioningly, concerned. They looked so deliberate, so dreadfully malicious. "Should I ask where these are from?" She shook her head and averted her eyes, opening them again as he kissed each marking there. Only then did she realise just what he was doing.

Jean kissed every single scar on her body.

From her feet he said "Don't ever think that you're not beautiful because of these. I- I knew other women who thought that about themselves and trust me, it's hard to get over. When I was in high school, so many girls hurt themselves so that they could feel the pain, and then when the bruises showed or the cuts scarred, they believed that they were ugly. A lot of them think that to this day, and I don't want you to ever feel like that. And even if none of these were self-inflicted, don't let them get you down. Alright?"

"Fuck, man, you should be a therapist," Dess smiled. "Alright."

He nodded and crawled back up the bed to be at eye level with her. His hands were at either side of her head as he kissed her again. She smiled into it, grabbed his hands, moved her legs to one side, and flipped him so that he was lying underneath her. He smiled, confused as she pulled away and sat on his chest. "Hey, Jean? " she said with a lopsided grin.

"Yeah?" he replied, his eyebrows raised and his hands roamimg up and down her thighs.

"I think I've fallen in love."

"I think I have, too."

 **This chapter is so named purely because I am going to regret having written this date and writing multiple love interests because holy crap I'm arguing with myself over who Dess should stay with at the end**


End file.
